


Home Now

by AJfanfic



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Can be read as gen, Crowley (Good Omens) Has PTSD, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sharing a Bed, The Blitz, Trauma, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 06:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19204186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJfanfic/pseuds/AJfanfic
Summary: Crowley comes home from the front lines, to find Aziraphale waiting for him with questions he can't answer.





	Home Now

The shop was warded, of course. That didn’t mean that the old building hadn't felt the effects of the Blitz. Dust and shards of plaster shaken loose by the impacts all around coated the shelves in white. On this particular night it was quiet and the shop, while open, was empty. Aziraphale bustled about the room dusting and righting the toppled stacks. As a rule, he avoided using miracles on the books. There was something soothing about the physicality of it that kept his mind clear. His arms were filled with books when the bell above the door rang. For a moment, he froze, ears straining for sirens he had been too absorbed to notice that might explain someone coming into his shop near midnight to seek shelter.

Aziraphale turned away from the shelves towards the pool of light spilling from the door. It was not a neighbor seeking an escape from the bombs, or some late night customer seeking books that weren’t for sale. A long man wrapped in a thin green coat, his shoulders poking like a wire hanger from the canvas stood at the edge of the dark. Crowley. Neither moved for a long moment.

“Tell me you did this.” Aziraphale would deny the tremor in his voice to the end of eternity. “Tell me this was all your demonic influence, that humanity could never…”

Crowley didn’t say anything. He just stood there, looking at the angel with that unblinking gaze.

“Admit you caused this, for G-d’s sake!” He screamed suddenly, halo shimmering in the half-light and his heavenly rage, his words racing into each other. “I’ll end you for this, serpent, I was a fool to ever believe in you!” Aziraphale slammed the books he was holding down onto the counter. The sharp bang echoed around the shop and Crowley flinched hard, the sound wrenching him from his study of the angel and around the nearest bookshelf. 

Aziraphale’s fury went out like a candle in a storm. _Selfish. The answer was never that simple._ He stepped slowly towards the other, his hands out in a gesture of peace. “Crowley? My dear, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things.”

He heard a shuddering breath and the demon slid back into the light. He was grinning, the smile pulled a little too tight and his eyes a little too glassy for it to be genuine. “I know, Angel.” His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders tense as he tried to suppress his painfully obvious shaking. “I don’t take it too personally. Demon, after all.”

“It’s been years.”

“Four.”

“Have you been overseas-”

“Yeah. Whole time.”

“What happened?”

Crowley’s voice broke. “A lot.”

“Are you home to stay?”

“No.” The tears gathering force in his golden eyes broke free and raced down his face. It was thinner than before.

Aziraphale closed the gap between them and Crowley near fell into his arms, the sharp angles of his body cleaving to the angel’s soft embrace. His fingers twisted into Aziraphale’s sweater and his spine curved under the weight of his silenced sobs, face pressed against the angel’s neck. For a long time, the only sound was the creak of old wood and the angel’s gentle mantra of meaningless words that said, again and again: _You’re home_ now _._

Crowley let nearly all of his slighter-than-it-should-be weight lean against the angel, his body sagging like it was all he could do to stay corporeal. Aziraphale could hardly tell when his tears had stopped, his breathing still ragged and wrapped around him like, well- like a snake. It twisted something deep inside him to see Crowley like this. Loud, confident Crowley, open, swaggering, antagonistic Crowley–jumping at shadows, silent as a leaf falling into a pile of its brothers.

Crowley’s lips moved against his neck, words barely given any air. “I’m sorry, I just had to see you were okay.” He forced his fingers from Aziraphale’s sweater. “I’ll go now,” he said, but he didn’t pull away.

With a thought, Aziraphale had the two of them in his rarely used bedroom. He’d been aiming for the backroom but honestly, this was better. Heaven knew how long the demon had gone without a proper bed and a full night’s sleep. “Stay the night, my dear boy.”

Crowley shook his head slowly. “Shouldn’t.”

“You don’t even know if your flat is still standing.” _You couldn’t protect it right now if something were to happen._ “And you need the sleep, please.” _I need you to stay where I know you’re safe._

He let his head fall back to Aziraphale’s shoulder and nodded. “Stay with me?”

“Of course, my dearest.”

* * *

The sheets were stiff with disuse but they smelled faintly of the cologne Aziraphale had favored before the war and the rationing. Crowley twined himself around him, legs twisted together and his head pillowed on the angel’s soft chest. Aziraphale let his body move without thought, sinking into the mattress and wrapping around the demon of its own volition.

That night Crowley would wake twice. Once when a car backfired outside and he was scrambling for his weapon, shoving Aziraphale down, pressing his body back between the angel and the threat only he could see. He didn’t cry that time, just shook while Aziraphale held him, until he fell asleep again, still shielding him against the headboard from enemy fire. Aziraphale shifted them back under the covers and built a bubble of silence around the room. The second time he woke screaming, wordless terror that slowly resolved itself into a name. _James._ He did cry then, curled into himself like he was sleeping in a trench rather than a bed and silent like his men were listening. Aziraphale stroked his hair and didn’t say that it would be alright. He said _it will end_ and _I’ve got you_ and _you’re safe with me_. 

* * *

A lot of things had changed since the war and the bombs and the trenches and all the things they had done in the spaces in between. That twisted thing inside Aziraphale’s chest bent slowly back into place as time ticked onwards. Crowley, the demon he had started to love on that day in the church when he'd saved him and let himself be saved in return, slowly dragged his mind from the trenches to meet his body. It would take until the fifties, but they go stand in front of the carved stone names, the only thing left of some of the men Crowley had fought with. It would take until the fifties, but he eventually began to talk about what had happened. He eventually stopped jumping at the sound of a broken mug and cried with his whole voice. It would take years, but Crowley stopped walking with his hands in his pockets and started walking with them tangled up with his angel’s instead.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [Armageddon, Armaggedoff](https://not-a-fucking-pogo-stick.tumblr.com/), come talk to me!


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